So, one week from today, when I get to go home (long may the seven mad gods of the sea live, long may they shit light on the heads of the damned), my number two guy, Scotty Doesn't Know, will be transferring to the Clean Oil group, there to languish dockside in his spacious new barge most of the time, with everything but 72 virgins bestowed upon him. Scotty is leaving the dread Black Oil Group to go back to a more humane 14 day on/14 day off rotation. This makes him the smarter of the two of us.
In the meanwhile, I will be home for 14 glorious days, before returning to my place as the beggar king of the bunkering squad. I say glorious mostly because my bed is easier on my now somewhat tender back.
In the meanwhile, three things of note have happened in the past few hours.
1) We've got orders for cargo to be loaded this afternoon prior to a 4am discharge. This is exciting and nerve-wracking for me mostly because this will be my first cargo load post-injury, and as my back already kind of feels like ass already, I'm a little nervous. I'm thinking that the ass-like feeling comes from the yoga poses I had to do last night as part of a strengthening regime that I've had foisted upon me. I can only imagine what a passing tugboat would say if they saw me doing Dead Bug and The Warrior on my back deck. Probably call my company and request I be tested for meth.
2) I made scones. First time. they came out well, but mildly bland. It's too warm today for tea, and what are scones without tea?
3) Visitors. I've had a steady stream of well-wishers from the office staff of my employer. Kind of nice. As I've mentioned, I feel asinine for having allowed myself to be hurt, but there it is. Everyone else seems OK with how things worked out.
Hard to Believe II -- Updated for 2014 and the ACA
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